Easter paranoia in KZN’s spookville

I don’t dig Easter. It’s got nothing to do with the crucifixion, although that couldn’t have been a lot of fun. My objection stems more from my own history of getting nailed over Easter.

My first bad Easter was in my matric year. I was a bit out of hand. Harper and associates get arrested for stealing a car. And possession of the holy herb. And underage drinking. And stealing a cop’s motorbike. Sharp move that.

We get locked up at the Toti cop shop. Who works there? The Babylon whose bike we lifted. Instead of Easter eggs, we get a serious beat down in the station garage. And in the cells. And in the courtyard of the pig pen. At least the cops withdrew most of the charges when we finally got to court Tuesday.

Did I omit to mention that we got banged up on Thursday night?

Fast-forward a year or two. It’s Good Friday. Harper is hanging with the bras in the Big Park in Knight Road. That’s in the Sydenham. We’re getting wasted on buttons.

We’re sitting there rushing and drooling; arguably the foulest drug I’ve ever used. These two pigs hit the corner. I have the bottleneck we’re smoking from in my hand. I hurl it over the roof of the nearest house. One of the Babylon kicks me off my feet and rams a 9mm into the back of my neck.

My mouth is full of the vile stuff we’ve been gobbing all over the grass. Vuil. The other goes for my man Jazzy. Junkie’s rushing so badly he’s pulled out an Okapi. He thinks we’re getting robbed. The five-o stomp him for his efforts. His Afro’s a mess. Guess who gets to spend Easter in CR Swart?

So I’m not looking forward to Easter. I don’t smoke pille any more. I don’t steal. But I still have this sense of foreboding. It’s partially the Brics gig. Sunday was a nightmare. Despite registering months ago, we’re suddenly told to re-register last week. No reasons given.

We pitch Sunday. We’re not in the system. It’s like we don’t exist. The department of international relations and cooperation (Dirco) cats are looking sheepish as hell.

The penny drops. They’re helpless. The spooks are running the show. We may be on the Dirco list, but not on the spooks’.

For the next three days Durban’s going to be spookville. Brazilian spooks. Russian spooks. Indian spooks. Chinese spooks. And South African spooks. Add to this thousands of suits. And soldiers. And, of course, the filth from every corner of the country. Let’s hope they don’t plug anyone. Harper in particular.

I start getting paranoid. It’s not just all the spies and firepower turning my town into Babylon On Sea. I’ve messed with the lahnees a bit of late. Not just the Commander in Chief. He still looked pissed with me on Friday.

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